Being immortalized means I don't have to care what you think.

Oh my. Go read Get Fuzzy today.

Usually when I make people go read Get Fuzzy, it's because it's eerily appropriate--Darby Conley does some wicked funny literature and writing strips--but today ... today it's just funny. And highly quotable, which was probably the point.

(no subject)

First: the Zweeble is doing insanely well! He's gained 5 pounds, added 3 inches, and moved from the 50th percentile to the 90th in about 6 weeks. He's a wonder, my boyo. Love, love, love.

Second: I was reminded today how *nice* it is to be able to play my music as loudly as I want in the car. Gotta get out alone a little bit more--save some errands for the evening or whatever.

In that spirit, I have a request. If you are reading this, WHENEVER you're reading this, even months down the line--comment on it! Even just a hi is cool. (If you need more of a topic: hey, last good book you read? last truly sucktastic book you read? or movie, tv show, whatever. Or do that "ask me anything" jobbie. I'm open to just about any inquiry.) Let me know I'm not alone in the world, just me and my baby facing the apocalypse ...

... good lord, can you imagine me with the Zweeble strapped to my back, shotgun in hand (or meat cleaver, whatever), facing down the zombies or the mutants or the vampires or what have you? I have James Cameron's next movie! (If Zweeble was a little older, I'd give him a slingshot and let him help.)